Casting Shadows
by Pixel.169
Summary: Under the full moon, fire and ice will meet in peace.  But their paws will be stained red.    Clan turns upon Clan, the Lake runs red with the blood of the innocent. So what happens when the most unlikely cats step forward to make a change?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything **_**Warriors**_** except for the characters' names. **

**Please review, constructive criticism is welcomed!**

The petite gray medicine cat slipped out of his den, shaking the frost from his whiskers. Raising his eyes to the cloud-covered sky, his left eye ticked - he could tell something was wrong. There was a disturbance in the cosmos, and he could sense it. Suddenly agitated, the ash-colored medicine cat's deep blue eyes - the color of the lake, and the streams that ran through the territory - scoured the camp, overlooking each of the dens with nervous interest. Lastly, his gaze settled on the leader's den, a mossy nest beneath a pile of jagged boulders, lichen hanging off the side. The medicine cat stiffened. He could feel the disturbance yank at him, its force seeming to originate in the direction of the leader's den. Apprehension rising in his gut, the medicine cat returned to his damp den, sniffing his two whitecough patients as he padded silently by them. Rudderpaw and Splashfrost would survive this epidemic, he was sure of it. They were strong. He wasn't worried about them. What worried him was the painful, ragged coughing fits his heightened sense of hearing picked up from the leader's den.

Sleekstar was on her last life.

The Clan did not know that. She had told them she had three lives left, in order to maintain confidence amongst her Clan in this dark time of war and conflict.

But the medicine cat knew. Yes, he knew. Not because Sleekstar herself had told him, but because of his gift of communication with their warrior ancestors.

Sleekstar was going to die.

The medicine cat closed his eyes and bowed his head in sorrow, wishing he had more time with his old friend, remembering what StarClan had told him.

_There will be a Gathering, at which the malicious will lose their grip and violence will break loose. A new spirit will join us, and StarClan will obscure the sky. Three dawns afterwards, the sun will be wreathed in darkness, its fiery tendrils fighting to break away from the darkness casting its shadow on the Clans._

The medicine cat shivered. The Gathering was tomorrow. He knew it could be any Gathering, but something cold and determined in his gut insisted it was this one. He gnawed his lip, an old habit of his.

Suddenly aware of another presence, the fur of the medicine cat's nape rose into spikes as he felt a new spirit touch him. This spirit was still slightly solid, and had undoubtedly been outside of its physical body for a very short time.

The medicine cat was suddenly aware that Sleekstar had stopped coughing.

Heart racing, the medicine cat glancing sideways at the beautiful silver spirit seated beside him. "_It is time_," Sleekstar's eighth life murmured, touching the medicine cat's cheek with her nose then losing her shape into the form of fog as she drifted up into the heavens.

The medicine cat sighed. Sleekstar was fortunate. She had departed from this realm of existence before the real suffering began.

Curling up in his den, the stone-gray medicine cat's heart felt heavy as he mourned for his leader. He knew he would barely sleep tonight, and he prayed to StarClan that if he did a spirit would come to him with consolation and/or advice.

He dreaded the knowledge of the fact that tomorrow morning, the Clan would find their leader dead. The death of such a strong leader was not what the Clan needed in these dark times. Yet fate had chosen Sleekstar's course, and she was in StarClan now, watching her Clan from above. The medicine cat hoped she was in peace.


	2. Chapter 1

Hawkheart hesitated at the roots of the fallen tree that led from the mainland to the Island, watching the rest of her Clan stream across it with it with ease. This was her first Gathering as a warrior of RiverClan, and she was a nervous wreck. But she was determined not to show it. She just needed a moment to get herself together before following her Clanmates into the sea of pelts under the full moon.

"Are you coming?"

Hawkheart didn't realize she'd been staring off into space like a terror-struck rabbit until Crowfoot, the muscular black tom she had lately taken a liking to, brushed his nose across her shoulder and spoke, nudging her gently towards the trunk. Hawkheart nodded, trying to look more confident than she felt, and smiled at Crowfoot, warmed by the fact he cared to notice she had lagged behind. Nodding shortly to him, she trotted across the trunk, chest puffed up, head and tail erect in an act of nonchalantness.

"I know you're nervous," Crowfoot murmured gently as he leapt silently to the leaf-strewn ground after Hawkheart. He pressed his nose to her shoulder. Crowfoot was much more experienced than her, and older by quite a few moons. Although he had always told her - and he was not the only one who told her this - that she was quite mature for her age.

Hawkheart tried to force a smile, failed, then just gave up and leaned against the muscular tom, closing her eyes for a moment. "Yeah," she answered, barely audible. Then, louder, "I just feel so awkward. I know Marshclaw will announce my becoming a warrior, and I'm scared that. . . I don't know what I'm scared of. I just know that I don't want to happen to me what happened to Berrytail of ThunderClan when he was announced as a new warrior at the Gathering before last."

"When no one cheered his name? The entire Gathering - except the ThunderClan cats - seemed more irritated than happy that there was a new warrior?" Crowfoot asked.

"Yeah. I'm sure it's stupid -"

"It's not stupid," Crowfoot broke in, with that low, soft, smooth voice that calmed her every nerve when she heard it. She wasn't sure which would encourage her more - a compliment from StarClan, or a compliment from Crowfoot!

"Every warrior is anxious at their first Gathering because, even though they know their peers by then, once you end your apprenticeship the rivalries between the Clans become ever stronger. A cat who you might once have chatted amiably with as an apprentice may regard you as the enemy as soon as you receive your warrior names, whether you or your Clan have done anything more to offend him than exist in general," Crowfoot continued as they walked, tails entwined, to join their Clanmates. "Every new warrior wants to be excepted by all the Clans, and when you are not - or at least that acceptance is not expressed, for whatever the reason - you may feel down. But now is a dark time, and the hostility amongst the four Clans is more intense than ever." He stopped, turned, and looked Hawkheart in the eyes. Deep cobalt, the color of the depths of the Lake, staring into bright hazel, the shade of their territory's undergrowth. Locked in his gaze, Hawkheart could have sworn she felt her heart stop. "But RiverClan will cheer for you." A half-smile - for some reason Crowfoot just _couldn't_ master the full smile - brightened the tom's face. _Great StarClan, he's handsome when he smiles_, Hawkheart thought distractedly. "I'll cheer the loudest," he promised.

"Is there going to be a Gathering, or are we going to chat?" Nettlefang from ShadowClan, a gray tabby she-cat with spikey fur, snapped from in front of the RiverClan duo.

Crowfoot narrowed his deep blue eyes in a way that - somehow - was always effective in making opposing cats turn away for their own safety. Hawkheart grinned inside. This was the cat she wanted for her mate.

Hawkheart and Crowfoot settled down among their Clanmates, towards the back since they were the last cats in the clearing to be seated. But that was fine, Hawkheart thought. Cats could stare at her when Marshclaw announced her as a new warrior if she were sitting up front.

Crowfoot pressed his side against hers and Hawkheart blinked at him, silent thanks for his support and consolation. Crowfoot gave her the slightest nod, then turned his attention to the leaders, seated on the lowest branches of the central tree.

There was Fallstar, the ShadowClan leader, a dark brown she-cat with a dull, bedraggled pelt. Either she wasn't healthy or she just hadn't bothered washing in a moon or so. She looked healthy - fairly muscular, bright eyes - so Hawkheart assumed the latter. The leader of ThunderClan, Bristlestar, was well groomed, his ginger and white fur glowing in the moonlight filtering through the trees. The leader of WindClan was scrawney gray Heatherstar, who looked like she hadn't eaten in a moon; but Hawkheart knew that's just the way WindClan cats all looked. And there was Marshclaw, soon-to-be leader of RiverClan. Grief for Sleekstar still hung heavy in Hawkheart's heart, even though she had never been close, personally, with the she-cat. But Sleekstar had been loved by her Clan, and it was never easy for a Clan to lose its leader, especially not to something like greencough.

"I wonder how the other Clans will react to the fact that Marshclaw still has his warrior name suffix," Hawkheart whispered.

Crowfoot shook his head. "They seem to react well, in my experience. But it can't be helped that Sleekstar died the night before the Gathering and therefore Marshclaw would not have had time to make the journey to the Moonpool and come back in time to lead his Clan to the Gathering."

Nothing ever seemed to bother Crowfoot. Nothing ever seemed to worry him, or anger him, or make him sad. Sometimes that upset Hawkheart. But she realized that his life was probably so much easier that way. She had always been too emotional for her own good, so she thought of Crowfoot as a role model. In more ways than one.

"I guess so," she whispered in reply. The Gathering had now officially begun.

"Cats of all Clans!" Fallstar always addressed the Gathering as if she were sole ruler of the territories. "I shall speak first." She stood up, shaking her unkempt fur. Hawkheart could swear she could smell the ShadowClan leader from where she was sitting. She smelled like carrion. Well, maybe that was just the whole of ShadowClan.

"ShadowClan is proud to announce three new warriors: Scarnose, Kinkclaw, and Talonwing!"

"Scarnose! Kinkclaw! Talonwing!" The cheer rose from the group of ShadowClan cats. ThunderClan murmured their names, and WindClan and RiverClan were completely silent. Except for Hawkheart. She cheered their names loudly.

Crowfoot glanced at her. "I don't want to be a hypocrite," she explained. The muscular black warrior nodded and returned his attention to Fallstar.

"ShadowClan also has a new apprentice: Littlepaw. Although, unfortunately, Littlepaw could not make it to the Gathering tonight due to whitecough."

Hawkheart raised her brows. "I'm surprised that Fallstar was willing to admit Littlepaw wasn't here because of sickness, instead of just announcing her apprenticeship as if she were here."

"You talk too much during the Gathering."

"I'm sorry." Hawkheart hung her head. "I guess I'm just nervous. You know I. . . ramble, when I'm nervous."

Crowfoot nodded, almost half-smiled, and pressed his shoulder against hers in a comforting gesture.

"Although leaf-bare is near, ShadowClan is thriving, as always," Fallstar concluded. "That is all I have to say."

"Except for your new apprentice with whitecough," Hawkheart heard a WindClan warrior mutter.

Heatherstar stood next, without invitation. Clearing her throat, she began, loudly, "There was a raid on WindClan three nights ago. RiverClan, accusing us of killing prey on their side of the border, launched an attack - _in our camp_. Yes, they brought their warriors to our camp to fight, endangering our kits and elders." The scrawney she-cat's eyes scoured the clearing, finally resting on RiverClan, malicious fire blazing in her amber eyes. "The warrior code states that battles must be fought fairly, and without bloodshed. Well, RiverClan's assault was not fair. WindClan lost two senior warriors and an apprentice in that battle." Heatherstar's eyes glazed over with raw grief. "I could have a new warrior to announce at this Gathering tonight," she snarled viciously, every hair on her petitte frame standing on end. "_If RiverClan hadn't sent him to StarClan!_" she screeched, now turned towards Marshclaw. Her voice lower, but nonetheless mocking, "So Sleekstar died, eh?" Marschlaw visibly stiffened. "Maybe that was StarClan's will, to rid the forest of her reign!"

"Do not speak of the departed in such a way!" Marshclaw spat, hackles rising.

Eyes wide, Hawkheart glanced between the two seething leaders. "There's going to be a fight!" she whispered.

Crowfoot gazed at her evenly. Hawkheart cursed inwardly at the fact that Crowfoot looked calm as ever, like nothing was wrong. "I don't know," he said. Tipping his head to look through a gap in the branches, he added, "StarClan hasn't covered the moon yet."

"It's not RiverClan's fault that WindClan are thieves!" snarled Thistlebite from ThunderClan. Hawkheart was surprised. Obviously they thought so too.

"We're not thieves!" Heatherstar screeched. "We would never steal from another Clan! WindClan has more dignity than that!"

"Then how do you explain the scent on our side?" Sharpfrost of RiverClan growled, eyes narrowed.

"The breeze carries scents," Heatherstar retorted.

"And the tufts of WindClan fur in the undergrowth?"

Heatherstar narrowed her eyes, barely holding in the fury. Her eyes glazed over again, and she looked like she was in another world. Then, snapping back into reality, she suddenly launched herself at Marshclaw. "_You killed my son!"_ She knocked Marshclaw straight off the branch and the two leaders became locked in combat.

WindClan took this as a chance to revenge their own personal grudges against RiverClan and, with a battle yowl from a senior warrior, launched their attack.

As the clearing exploded with yowls of anger and pain, Ashfeather, the RiverClan medicine cat, stood to the side, his head hung low. _It is time_.


	3. Chapter 2

_Under the full moon, fire and ice will meet in peace. But their paws will be stained red._

Ashfeather gazed out over the flooded Lake from his perch on a rock at the very bank, liquid lapping against his paws in rhythmic waves. But water wasn't what the Lake was overflowing with.

The RiverClan medicine cat leapt back with a yowl of terror as a thick, crimson wave crashed over his forepaws.

Ashfeather woke in a cold sweat, his fur plastered to his lean body, trembling uncontrollably. Panting with leftover terror, the medicine cat sat up and willed his body to quit its trembling before he made an attempt at cleaning his pelt. He closed his eyes for a moment, going over the dream again in his mind, hearing and memorizing the words StarClan's collective voice had spoken to him as he sat at the shore of a Lake of blood. Blood of all the Clans.


End file.
